Lost in Skyrim

Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Chat Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays

Posting Speed:

A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week

Writing Levels:

Give-No-Fucks, Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Douche, Adaptable

Genders You Prefer Playing:

Male, Primarily Prefer Male

Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive:

Depends on the person that I am currently roleplaying with! Usually, I prefer to discuss what should happen next in the rp.

Favorite Genres:

Really everything

Genre You DON'T Like:

I actually really don't like to do half assed rps

Getting separated from his caravan wasn’t something that was on Ja’rawl’s to do list. Getting anywhere away from them wasn’t something that he would have done anyway. He was lost in a cold, harsh land with little knowledge of the people or their language.

The red haired elf pulled the thin fabric of his brightly colored clothing closer to his thin frame. Golden eyes squinting against the cold wind blowing in his face. He cursed the dragon and its kind for separating him from his people. He cursed the land and the bitter wind.

Oh how he missed the warm sands beneath his feet, the cool winds of the desert night, the smell of moon sugar as the bottle of Skooma was passed around the cooking fire.

Ja’rawl’s clan was a nomadic one, which wasn’t that uncommon among the desert dwelling people of Elswher. His clan moved from place to place, selling and trading their goods wherever they could. When word reached them of Skyrim, the opportunity seemed much too great to pass up.

Now, he wished that they had passed it up. He’d be home, curled up in his tent with the sounds of his family snoring around him.

Another shiver racked his thin body as his next step took him into nearly thigh deep snow. He wrinkled his nose. He was quickly beginning to hate snow. He’d thought it amazing at first, but now he wanted it gone.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. Possibly his one and only chance to wait out this awful snowstorm. A cave.

It wasn't much, but it would do. It would provide the shelter that he would need to wait out the storm. For now.

Modern Fiction, Sci-Fi & Fantasy, Historic/Period. I'm quite versatile and open. More prone to original content than fandoms, though base inspiration is welcome.

Yusef Daoud crouched low in a huddle of old and tattered furs. The fire had crackled down to nothing hours ago when the wood ran out. He wasn't certain, but thought his friend unlikely to wake again. The Nord had taken damage before reaching the cave and now slouched disconcertingly against the rocks with his head hung over his chest. No frosted breath escaped his nostrils or lips. Yusef tried not to stare - out of sight and out of mind. The cave was fairly shallow and the cold seemed to press in heavier and heavier as the snow fell. He was used to the cold, had lived with it his entire life, but the cold didn't discriminate when taking lives. Yusef glanced up at the sound of footsteps.

Shrinking down into his furs he wondered how they could have been found. He'd been sure the storm would set the Bandits off the trail. Yusef rose, realizing he hadn't yet been noticed. He could take this Bandit by surprise still and save some time. After sneaking a few steps, however, the clothing of this one threw him off. The man certainly wasn't a bandit, and if he was, he was none that would recognize Yusef.

He could protect himself, he thought, hand curling tighter around the grip of the dagger at his hip as he approached the stranger. The Redguard watched the other carefully, studying him. An elf, he could see now. He wasn't sure if this was good or bad for himself. "Are you lost, Elf?"

They were chased off by mere bandits. Outnumbered, sure, but Vera expected more from them. Perhaps those were more than mere bandits.

Sauntering beneath trees and hugging the edges of a rock face, she pursued her injured quarry into an unassuming cave. She thought about waiting until nightfall, but the skies were darkening, and snow was sure to fall first. As a dark elf with light gear, she wasn't exactly well equipped for Skyrim's unrelenting wrath.

Vera skulked into the cave, clutching a dagger of dark ebony. She noticed their fire immediately, and crept around it in a wide circle, stopping to crouch behind a thick stalagmite. The darkness enveloped her form, she was a fair distance away from the tyrannous reach of the light. Incidentally, her soul was no different.

Since earning a nasty bounty in Hammerfell, that redguard's head was worth a small fortune. A fortune she was ready to kill for. It wasn't like she hadn't killed before, being indebted to a daedra demands efficiency and an unbending resolve, not compassion.

She waited in the shadows for what seemed like hours, contemplating her approach. Her prey was an easy enough kill... but the nord was going to be a problem. At the sound of footsteps, the nord got up and moved silently towards the exit. She chuckled to herself, and watched him sneak around as if he was unseen. A peculiar bosmer entered the cave, his face faintly lit by the fire. This was an unexpected setback, she surely didn't need another witness to deal with.

Vera considered approaching them without hostility, and stay with them long enough to relieve their apprehension. Yet for now she confined herself to the shadows and observed, waiting tirelessly for her opportunity to strike...

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